Mirrors
by waytoomanyfandoms
Summary: About the Phantom of the Opera and a maid that just happens to always clean the mirror in the prima donna room...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey guys! So this isn't really in the norm of what I usually write, so please go easy on me! I've always been kind of a nerd for the Phantom of the Opera (seriously ever sense 3rd grade), and for some reason this idea has always been in my head (maybe not ever sense 3rd grade). It's just a short little drabble/one-shot thing I wrote with an OC with not really much to it. ***If you're just one of my readers popping in to see what this is, but have not seen/read/heard the Phantom of the Opera, that is totally okay!*** You can probably read this and understand, but if you're curious, it's a beautiful story and you all should check it out (it's on Netflix though my personal favorite is the 2004 movie with Gerard Butler)! Anyways, I hope you all enjoy! Please leave reviews so I know what you guys think!**

**(I do not own The Phantom of the Opera)**

I didn't like to believe the stories: the stories about _him._ I wasn't the type to spread rumors, or rather believe them. But, working in a place as big as the Paris Opera house, rumors were inevitable. Being a maid in the opera house, I often heard many dark stories about murderers, ghosts, and phantoms. Although I didn't believe that the infamous phantom of the opera had yellow skin and lacked a nose, I did truly believe that he existed. I wasn't as skittish as the ballerinas, no, but I was always curious. I worked alongside older women- _tough_ women. If any of them ever saw me squeal at the sight of a shadow, I'm sure they would have laughed till no end, and would have never let it go.

Though the other maids didn't often gossip, I would sometimes get to clean the auditorium seats and floors during and after rehearsals, where I could overhear the whispers and murmurs of the ballet and chorus girls, speaking about the phantom of the opera. Oh that poor phantom! I often wondered if he knew he was talked about. Perhaps that was how he liked it. Perhaps he liked the fear he induced upon the Paris inhabitants. That was what often sparked my curiosity. Fear couldn't be the soul motive for someone. Could it? I refused to believe that rumor. I also refused to believe that this "phantom" was a ghost. I did not believe in ghosts. I believed in crazy people- people that could haunt other people. Honestly, it made more sense than a ghost floating through the walls of an opera house, and scaring the head soprano.

While it was possible that this "phantom" was truly just a man that thirsted for blood, I couldn't help but feel bad for him. Perhaps it was pity. I don't believe that anyone truly enjoys people talking about him or her behind their back. We often say that we wouldn't mind, but deep down, we all feel that pang of hurt when we know someone thinks negatively of them.

I think all of my curiosity about this phantom came from the boredom that lingered with being a maid. Yes, I was always busy, but I would much rather be dancing or singing than polishing a mirror, even though I cannot dance or sing. Anything seemed more interesting than dusting, trust me.

Although my curiosity was spurred from my boredom, my interpretation of this phantom's feelings, and my knowledge of his existence were very much true. The feelings of the phantom could be false, as I've never actually spoken to this opera ghost, but I don't think what I've witnessed was a façade.

As I said before, I would often clean and polish the mirrors in the opera house. The grand mirror in the prima donna room would take me the longest, and would often require a footstool. Sometimes, while I'm knelt on the ground, trying to wipe away a pesky smudge on the bottom of the mirror, I'll sense something. A presence. It wasn't necessarily a bad presence, but I had to admit that sometimes I would give a small jump at the sudden feeling. I wouldn't mind though. I knew that it wasn't just some performer sneaking in through the entrance of the prima donna room. I always knew that this person was right in front of me. No, it was not my reflection, but the person that lay behind it. Sometimes the person would just be there. They would just be present. Other times, I could tell that the person had shifted to meet my height kneeling on the floor. I could always tell by the sounds of fabric moving. I was never frightened. Sometimes my heart would race in the excitement of the thought that there was someone else there, but other times I would just accept that there was someone else. I always knew that this was the opera ghost. Who else would hide behind a mirror, in the walls of an opera house? It just made sense.

Of course these actions confirmed the existence of a phantom, but they didn't tell me of his emotions. Later I did deduce that the possible reason for his continuous returning to that specific mirror while I was present could be due to loneliness, but I didn't know right away until one day. I will always remember that day. That day when I was knelt on the ground and I felt that presence. I heard the shifting of fabric behind the glass of the mirror. I remember longing for more interaction with this phantom- wanting to know what he looked like- wanting to hear his voice. But, I knew that if this opera ghost wanted to stay hidden, he would. I remember staring into my eyes in the reflection, but knowing I was really staring into his. I was almost lost in a daze, thinking about the phantom of the opera, so I didn't even think twice before I placed my hand on the cool mirror. At first, I could only feel the mirror, but as time past, I could feel the glass getting warmer under my palm. And that was when I knew he had placed his hand on mine on the other side of that glass. And that was how I knew he was lonely.

**A/N: So, what did you guys think? I'm not really much of a romantic nor am I good at writing romantic stories, and I'm not sure yet if this was made to be romantic. But please tell me what you guys think! What did you guys get from it? Please let me know your thoughts on this! Thank you guys so much:) i hope you enjoyed!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Ok guys, so I've decided to try to continue this story, and to see how it goes! Please feel free to tell me what you think of this story at any time, and what you think i should change or add more of! Lots of constructive criticism is accepted! Anyways, i hope you guys enjoy! Don't forget to favorite, follow, and leave reviews!**

**(I do not own the Phantom of the Opera)**

While there were these simple interactions with this opera ghost, I couldn't help but long for more. I wanted to know what his name was, what he looked like, what he sounded like, or even what he wore. I just wanted to know him. Of course, the fact that he was a "ghost" made communication more difficult. I continued to sense his presence, though, in the Prima donna room, but no words were ever exchanged. I always wondered what he sounded like. What would a normal conversation with a phantom sound like? Would I ask him how his day was? Would he reply with a simple "fine" and then go on and talk about how the new managers were annoying him? Maybe what I longed for was simplicity: a simple relationship with the ghost. It didn't have to be a romantic relationship, or even a friendship- I just wanted to know him.

Obviously I realized that I couldn't be the only person in this phantom's life. He had to have at least one person who he thought of as a friend, or perhaps an enemy. Either way, there had to be someone else he knew. I figured that if the ghost were ever acquainted with anyone, it would have to be someone from the opera house. I'm convinced that the other person is the new head soprano, Christine Daee.

Just recently, the head soprano, Carlotta, had quit in the middle of a rehearsal of the production _Hannibal._ I was sweeping one of the aisles in the rows of velvet chairs when she stormed off stage. That was when Christine Daee stepped forwards and revealed her true talents. She was an amazing singer. The notes she sang were executed so effortlessly and gracefully, anyone would stop to listen to this angelic voice. The first piece of evidence of Mlle. Daee and the phantom's relationship was the fact that a nameless man tutors Christine. Now, this nameless man could be anyone, but I've noticed that this Christine hardly leaves the opera house. Unless her tutor regularly visits the Opera Garnier, he must be the only other person that lives in the opera house without a known name: the phantom. I've also walked past the dormitories, where Christine lives. Sometimes I would hear her practicing and having small conversations with someone in the room. Then, she would walk out of the room with no one behind her.

Now, the fact that there is a phantom, or rather a man, that lives beneath the Paris opera house would often give anyone shivers up and down their spines. It is a curious situation, but for some unknown reason, the idea never fazed me. I grew up with superstitious parents. Well, a superstitious mother. She would often tell my sister and me tales in which she "encountered" ghosts at some point in her life. Being a realist, I never believed these stories, but I did get used to them, so when I heard there was a ghost that pranked annoying Italians, and air-headed managers, I was hardly terrified.

Last night, I was assigned to cleaning a grand ballroom. The opera house is very big, and is very short staffed, so I'll often have the responsibility of cleaning many large rooms by myself. And, because I am the youngest of the maids, it is assumed that I can do more work, and can take over the jobs that the other maids are too lazy to do. As it was the night of Christine Daee's grand debut, the party held in this particular ballroom left quite a few wine stains on the marble floor. I let out a sigh when I saw the mess. The sigh echoed off the golden walls and floated back to me. It had been a long day with hardly any good surprises, and I just wanted to go back to my dormitories in the maids' quarters, and sleep. Unfortunately, I could not sleep until I had finished cleaning this ballroom.

I shuffled to the back of the massive room, deciding to commence there. After about a good fifteen minutes of dusting the detailed engravings on the back wall, I started to hear something. It was a voice- a man's voice- and it was singing. I couldn't hear any of the words being said, as the voice was too muffled by the many thick walls in the opera house, but I could hear the distinct melody that floated around the ballroom. The echo in the high-roofed room made the song sound haunting yet beautiful. I stopped dusting, and froze. I was afraid that if I moved, I would make a noise, and wouldn't be able to hear this alluring melody. Somehow, I knew it was _him._ It had to be. I knew nothing about the opera ghost, yet I was absolutely positive that this ghostly melody was coming from him. Somewhere in the opera house, the phantom of the opera was singing. And for some reason, I thought that was beautiful. I'd never heard his voice before. I could hardly even hear it then. The muffled words blurred together like a soft hum, but the melody remained prominent and glorious. I wanted to go and find the phantom to hear the words he was singing, but at the same time, I was afraid I would miss a note of this angelic song. I slowly slid down the wall I was dusting, and sat still, my legs sprawled out in front of me. Each note came like a surprise: a wonderful, beautiful surprise. I didn't even think of the one thing that all songs had in common: that they all had an ending. So, when the melody stopped, I held my breath. I waited. I waited for probably ten minutes, taking quiet breaths, afraid that the small sound would frighten away the music. I blinked, and only then did I realize that I was crying. I wasn't sad, no. I'm actually not sure what I was.

The melody still floated around my head as I finished cleaning that ballroom. I hummed to it on my way back to the dormitories, and I dreamed of a masked figure singing to me the music- the music of the night.

**A/N: So, as you guys probably figured, the song that was heard in the ballroom was Erik singing "Music Of the Night" to Christine. So what did you guys think? Is it too corny? What do you guys want more of? What do you guys want less of? Please let me know! Thank you guys so much for reading this story! I really appreciate all the support you've all given me!3**

**I MADE AN EDIT FOR YOU GUYS. I'm actually pretty excited and I think the edit I made is quite close to how I was imagining how it really sounded. I tried for a long time on iMovie to get rid of the orchestral background so you could only hear the vocals, but it didn't work too well so it kind of drifts in and out, but i'd like to think that the maid pretended to hear an orchestral piece along with it? I don't know about you guys, but sometimes if I hear a song that's just vocals I'll kind of make a little background music to go along with it for no good reason at all. In "reality" of the story, the maid didn't hear any orchestral music and it was just the singing (like how POTO would work in real life- everyone breaks out into song with no background music). If you're interested, go to 8tracks dot com slash waytoomanyfandoms and click on my most recent playlist titled "Mirrors". It's the first track on there, but because it is 8 tracks, i had to put up 8 other songs so i just did random ones that kind of made me think of this story. YOU ONLY HAVE TO LISTEN TO THE FIRST SONG. please please please listen to it and tell me what you guys think! I'm actually really excited! Don't forget to listen to it with both headphones in to get the full effect;) Enjoy!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey guys! So, here's the next chapter! I might move my announcement from its own separate chapter and put it at the end of this chapter, so don't freak out if you see a missing chapter sometime in the near future! Anyways, I hope you all enjoy! please tell me what you guys think! :)**

**( I do not own the Phantom of the Opera)**

That song I'd heard that night never left my mind. It was as if I could not possibly rid it from my thoughts, and I did not want to. His voice. It was as if it was the voice of a ghost but at the same time, the voice of an angel. How could this phantom be both? I longed to know what he was singing. I wanted the words that followed this alluring melody. In my dreams, it was as if I could hear every word he was singing, like he was in the same room as I. But, I would then slowly open my eyes, and strain to put together the words.

Who was he singing to, though? It is largely possible he was singing only to himself, but for some reason, I knew there was someone else there. I couldn't help but feel almost jealous- jealous that this person was able to hear every word of this melody. They were able to hear every note and every syllable clearly. Maybe it wasn't jealousy. Maybe I was happy for that person's fortune. That's what it was. It was happiness that there was someone that was able to hear those notes and those syllables. I was happy that there was someone there with him to share his music.

I needed to talk to him. It was decided on that very night in the ballroom. I realized that if one truly wishes to speak with another, all they have to do is start talking. I had never done that for some reason. I had never talked to him. I would not have minded a one-sided conversation with the opera ghost, but for some reason, like in the ballroom the other night, I would never dare make a sound- always afraid I would frighten away my ghost.

That day that I had finally built up enough courage was the longest day of my life. I woke up that morning, knowing what I was to do, and knowing that it would happen. I had a cleaning schedule, so I would not be in the Prima donna room until well past three o clock in the afternoon. I didn't know if I could wait that long. If it was up to me, I would have ran in there, even if Christine Daee sat there, removing her make up from that day's rehearsals, and I would have spoken to him. Even if I had to smash through that massive mirror, I would have done it. But, unfortunately, there are "rules" which must be followed. So, I waited. The day passed ever so slowly, and I found myself constantly asking for the time. When it was almost three, I decided that the half dusted cabinet I was cleaning was clean enough, and I gathered my damp cloth and pail, and almost skipped my way to the prima donna room, bucket almost spilling twice.

As soon as I had opened that oversized door, all my courage drained from me. Why now? Any other time I would come into this room, I would not give a second thought about being accompanied by a mysterious guest. But now was different. I had something to say. I decided it was probably best to just ignore the pestering thought of the task I wanted to accomplish, and to just continue on with my job as normal. I let out a steady breath before slowly lowering myself to the ground in front of the mirror where I began my cleaning.

Only a minute passed before I felt his presence. I paused for a moment, halting the swift movements I was making with the rag in my hand. I looked up into my eyes- his eyes- as I heard the movement of fabric. He was right in front of me then. I gave a small smile, but then it soon disappeared. _He's probably not even here _I thought to myself, _I've probably been imagining this whole thing. _I sighed, but knew what I had to do to tell if he was truly there, even though I already seemed to know. I placed my shaking hand on the mirror, and closed my eyes. It seemed to take a moment or two longer than it did before, perhaps because the phantom had hesitated, but I finally felt the warmth against my palm on the glass. The smile returned to my lips as I opened my eyes once more to gaze into, hopefully, his eyes. I took one more deep breath, hoping that it would provide me a calmer state of mind. Calm enough to hopefully question a ghost. I had wanted to ask so many questions right then and there: _Do you really live in the opera house? What was the song you were singing the other night? Can you teach it to me? Can you sing it to me? Who were you singing to? Why do you remain hidden? _Instead, that tiny scrap of courage I had within me only managed to force out one question: "What is your name?"

I waited for what felt like hours. I only stared at the mirror, hoping the phantom was still there. I was worried that perhaps I had angered him, and he had run away. What if I had just ruined everything right at that moment? What would my life have become? I was completely surprised to hear a voice on the other side of that mirror. It was quiet, yet bold and steady. "Erik" It said. _Erik. Erik, Erik, Erik, Erik. _I thought to myself. _His name is Erik. _The name was the only thing I could think of at that moment.

I beamed at the mirror and repeated "Erik", as if perhaps he was not sure and needed a reminder. I continued to smile at the mirror, so content with this new information. I had longed for an endless conversation before, but the void in my mind seemed to be content being filled only with "Erik".

"I suppose it would only be fair for you to know my name as well." I pointed out.

What I did not expect was an answer. "Isabelle." It said. And I knew it was said with a smile too.

**A/N: Ahh, isn't it so refreshing when you actually talk to a person you've been (not quite) seeing for the longest time? Not gonna lie, I smiled when I wrote that last part, and I hope you guys did too! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter in the reviews! Thank you all so much! :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey guys! Story time: So i was writing this chapter and Microsoft Word just decided to freeze and i unfortunately didn't have autosave turned on, so when I had to force quit it, nothing saved! So, i quickly just re-wrote this chapter, knowing I would forget everything I wrote tomorrow. I'm really sorry if this chapter isn't what you thought it was going to be! I swear, the first version was better;) But, because that one's lost, this one lost a lot of detail and a few other passages. Anyways, this chapter is mainly dialogue. I hope that's okay with you guys! Warning: i'm not really that good with writing dialogue as in I have difficulties writing it as detailed as my other chapters. So this chapter is kinda eugh. please tell me what you guys think of this chapter! Thank you guys so much!**

**( I do not own the Phantom of the Opera)**

While I had continuous faith in the phantom of the opera, others did not. I guess people didn't tend to be as forgiving when they hear there's a ghost running around. I guess you can understand my frustration when I hear people talking poorly of him all the time.

I'm not completely sure where the confidence came form that day. Perhaps it was from the fact that I had spoken to Erik. Perhaps it was because Erik had responded. Perhaps it was because Erik told me his name was Erik. I'm not sure how, but somehow, that four-lettered name filled me with such happiness and joy. It also gave me the confidence to think I could speak up to my coworkers and get away with it.

There was a total of five of us maids working on cleaning the grand foyer of the opera house. I was cleaning the stairs along with Marie, another maid who often acted as a mother figure for me. Her round and sturdy frame was hunched over on the stair landing above me, scrubbing harshly at the marble. I remained on the steps, my elbow supporting me as I gently removed the dirt on the stairs with a wet rag.

"I don't know what those foolish managers were thinking! That damned ghost will kill us all!" Marie complained, still scrubbing away at the floor.

There were sounds that echoed throughout the foyer, signaling that the other maids had agreed with this statement. I remained silent.

"Maybe if the managers let Mlle. Daee sing the lead just this once, the ghost will leave us all alone for good." Josephine, one of the eldest maids, chirped in from the corner she was sweeping.

"Why does he do this to us? Why must he terrorize us all? Who gave him the right? He should just go back to hell were he belongs." Marie grumbled to herself.

I don't know why, but this sparked something within me. It sparked a flame- a flame that slowly and steadily boiled my blood. I bit my lip, not sure what to do. I knew I should have stayed quiet at that moment, but my mind kept screaming at me to say _something. Anything._ I took a deep breath and closed my eyes before speaking up. "Why?" I asked, simply. I felt all eyes on me, especially Marie's piercing blue glare. I wanted to back out of this conversation, but Erik wasn't there to defend himself. I needed to take that position.

"_Excuse me?" _She asked slowly.

"Why would he go to hell?" I asked, almost as if I wasn't sure of the question myself. I wasn't too proud of my responses at that moment, but I knew I had dug myself into too deep of a hole already.

"Because he's a _monster_ that's why. _Monster's _go to hell." She explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

That was my breaking point. Out of fury, I replied, "He has a name you know!" I then felt as if the entire opera house was staring at me. I thought back to what I had said, repeating it in my mind. I slipped. I was done for.

"Oh is that so? Do share his name, Isabelle." Marie said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I-I don't know." I replied quickly.

Marie remained silent for a moment. I could feel her gaze on me as I pretended to be intrigued with a microscopic stain on the marble. I thought that at that moment she knew. She knew of my interactions with Erik, and she was going to do something about it. But, luckily, she just huffed out a laugh.

"He _is _a monster, Isabelle. Nothing will _ever _change that." She said.

"But Mlle. Daee-" I started hopelessly, but was cut off.

"If Mlle. Daee want's to be involved with this phantom, then that is her problem. If I _ever _find out that you're involved with him…" She trailed off, knowing that I knew what she'd said was a warning.

I needed to be more careful. Erik has always wanted to stay hidden and always will. If I ever gave up his privacy because of my stupidity, I don't think I'd have ever been able to forgive myself.

**A/N: Just giving you guys a head's up, I may not be uploading as often as I usually do because school starts for me on Monday!:( I might keep uploading it normally, but it really depends on the homework load. **

**Also, this may be important, but I'm following the plot line order of the 2004 movie. I was going to do the normal stage version, but with the chandelier crash at the end, it works better, trust me;)**

**Anyways, please tell me what you guys thought of this chapter! Don't forget to favorite, follow, and review! Thanks guys!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey guys! Here's the next chapter:) sorry it's been a while! School has been eugh but I finally got the time to write today, and I wanted to get it up as soon as possible! I think this chapter is shorter than the others, so I'm really sorry for that! So, Enjoy the chapter! Also, please read the author's note at the end only because i have some stuff that might help you picture this better? Anyways, ENJOY!**

You could tell that something was wrong that day. Everyone was running frantically about the opera house, preparing for the new opera, _Il Muto. _While the guests of the opera house chattered in excitement for the new production, the workers of the Opera Garnier remained on edge. I, too, was slightly nervous myself. I worried for Erik, and the things he might do. I've witnessed what happens when he becomes upset. Usually it was when Carlotta was singing, or when the managers did not listen to his instructions. As both of these annoyances were to occur that night, one could empathize with my nerves.

When the opera finally commenced after the prestigious audience trickled into the theatre, I found my place hidden in the shadows, watching the performance through the crack in the door that was tucked to the side of the theatre. At the time, all seemed to be going well. Carlotta sung her shrill notes while Christine Daee silently acted along her side. After holding my breath for what seemed to be the entirety of the opening song, I let my shoulders relax, knowing that there was a possibility that the phantom of the opera would hold back for the duration of the performance. Oh, how wrong I was.

Mid-way through the performance, a thundering voice cut off Carlotta as it echoed throughout the theatre.

"_Did I not instruct that box five was to be left empty?" _

My heart crawled down to the pit of my stomach while my eyes widened. I knew it was _him_, but at the same time, I knew that if I had heard that voice out of context, I would not have been able to recognize it. This voice was different than the one I heard in the ballroom. It was different than the name he spoke in the prima donna room. It was different than the Erik I knew. Then again, I didn't even know Erik. What right did I have to judge his character?

The entire theatre let out a series of gasps at this surprise. I opened the side door enough for me to poke my head through, and looked for the source of the voice. He wasn't on stage with the gaping Carlotta or the nervous Christine. Though it took a few moments time, my gaze finally landed on a dark figure. _It was him. _

I almost forgot about the situation that was happening in front of me. I was too dumbfounded that I was actually seeing him. It was Erik. It was Erik and he was _right there_. I could not see his face, no. It was only a figure there, standing at eye level with the chandelier, amongst the painted angels on the dome ceiling. But, it was something.

I believe that at that moment, some words were exchanged between Carlotta and Mlle. Daee. Then Erik had said something as well with a chuckle. If only I knew what he said. It was as if I had heard the words, but had not processed any of them. I was too much in awe with his presence- his _visible_ presence.

Before I knew it, his dark figure had disappeared behind a door. I wanted so badly to go and see where he went, but I knew that it would be futile. He was, after all, the infamous opera ghost.

The world around me slowly materialized back into existence. The muffled laughter rang clearly in my ears. _Wait. Laughter? _I quickly noticed the audience guffawing in their seats. Each person was either clutching their stomachs or wiping tears from their eyes. Wondering what was happening, I looked to the stage to see Carlotta frantically flailing her arms about while horrid noises croaked from her lungs. I began to snicker, but held back my amusement, knowing that I myself would have hated to be in Carlotta's situation.

The managers fumbled on stage, stuttering a mess of words, notifying the audience that the ballet from act three was to be put on. Singers and dancers scrambled across the stage, each performer trying to get to wherever they were needed.

Fully standing in the shadows of the theatre, I leaned against the wall, watching the show being put together from the sidelines. The ballet dancers made their way onto stage while the orchestra stuttered to a start. All seemed to be well at the time. Some audience members were even quietly giggling to themselves as they replayed the recent events in their minds.

No one expected this to happen. No one even entertained the thought. I did. I thought of it momentarily the night before, but pushed it off as soon as it slithered into my mind. _Surely he wouldn't… _I had thought to myself. Oh, how wrong I was.

Within a blink of an eye, the twirling ballet girls were running from their positions, piercing screams echoing between them, while the giggling audience was shrieking and averting their eyes.

There, in front of the garden painted scenery, hung Joseph Bouquet. He was a worker at the opera house. I had only met him once, and from that meeting, it was obvious he wasn't quite the gentleman. Though, I did not think that his rudeness made him deserve _this. He was dead. _

I felt sick to my stomach at that moment- as if my heart that had dropped from my chest was making my stomach uneasy- as if it was difficult to digest.

What I was expecting was possibly a few pranks played during the performance. The audience would have laughed then, and maybe I would have as well. Everyone would have forgotten about the day's events after a day or two.

I felt horrible for assuming so, but I _knew _that this had to have been Erik. As I reflect upon it now, perhaps it wasn't Erik, though. Perhaps it was the phantom of the opera.

**A/N: Uh, oh... ERIK *shakes fist*. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! What did you guys think? What do you think Isabelle is going to do? ALSO to help with some visualisation, I don't want to force any version of Erik into your heads or any version of christine (or any of the other canon characters) so you can go ahead and picture whichever Erik/Christine/character any way you'd like! On wattpad, i did cast Erik as Butler, but I know he's not a favourite amongst most people. When I picture him in there though, I almost picture kind of a scrawnier Erik? I don't know... It kind of changes throughout but imagine whatever you'd like! Also, I just noticed that this story has reached 600 views! AHH Thank you guys SO SO much! You've all been such awesome readers, and I hope you all can stick around till the end! You're all lovely and amazing and perfect3 Anyways, see you in the next chapter!3**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hey guys! So this chapter hasn't really been proof read so I would like to apologise for shittyness! Anyways, enjoy! Don't forget to favourite, follow, and review!3**

**(I do not own the Phantom of the Opera)**

It had been almost a month since the hanging of Joseph Bouquet. People had moved on already, and even dared to forget about the opera ghost. It was as if nothing had ever happened that snowy night on the stage of the Opera Garnier, and that was unsettling for me. It was true that I was able to empathize with Erik, but what he did was uncalled for. Although I think the executions that were offered by many people were a bit too much, I did have an urge to slap Erik right across his face, yellow parchment skin or not.

Even though that was what I _wanted_ to do, communication between the opera ghost and I became very limited, making slapping him in person not a valid option. In fact, communication with Erik had become so limited that it ceased to exist. I often wondered what happened to Erik. Surely he hadn't left the opera house? It was a mystery, just like he was. A mystery wrapped in an ebony cloak and tangled in his own homemade noose

Sometimes, though, I could hear him- in the ballroom of course. But, it wasn't the lulling voice of an angel that would breathe into my mind. The music I heard, although beautiful, was harsh and angry, and made me worry for my dear opera ghost. Something was wrong. The boisterous organ music would often start off steady, but then stop suddenly with the pounding of its keys as if the player had given up in frustration. Of course, the starting and stopping could have been also due to the fact that he could have been composing. I wondered what he was composing.

The notes were often harsh, but there was one melody that stuck out. It had passion and feeling in every ringing note. Although the melody started slowly, it would build up into a fantastic sound. That melody seemed to be the only song he was sure of at the time. It was as if he was composing multiple movements, but could only master the first. Again, I wondered what Erik was singing in these notes. Was anyone there to share his music with him that time?

His absence did not stop me. Each day, I would continue to clean the Prima Donna room, and each day, I would wait by the mirror for him. I would listen and be patient, and I would only be slightly disappointed when he never came.

The days would fly past me, but somehow my thoughts were moving as if they were stuck in thick, hot tar. Nothing seemed normal anymore without Erik in my routine. I know, it sounds silly, but I had gotten so used to his presence, that without it, I felt barren. I wouldn't consider myself a dependent woman, nor would I necessarily consider myself to be an independent woman, but the fact that Erik's absence left this strange emptiness in me left my mind frozen.

Sometimes I found myself talking to the mirror in the prima donna room, pretending that Erik was there, right behind the reflective glass. I knew that I probably would not have done this if he was actually there, but I felt as if I had gotten closer to him, even if I was talking to my own reflection.

"You know, I actually am starting to miss you, Erik." I said shyly to my tired reflection. It had been a long week with constant badgering from Marie, and a conversation with an opera ghost was exactly what would have made me feel better at the moment.

I sighed when no voice or presence greeted me.

"What happened Erik?" I questioned the glass. "Something's wrong, and I want to help…" I trailed off. What was I thinking then? How could I have helped the phantom of the opera? All I really knew about him was his name. I had no _idea _as to what he could have been going through.

I scooted closer to the mirror until my folded knees were gently pressed against the glass. I chuckled humorlessly to myself as I looked down at my hands, neatly folded in my lap. The sad smile disappeared as my hand rose up to the glass once more. I knew I should not have done that. I knew I was going to be disappointed from the start. Yet, there I was, holding my hand up to a mirror by myself, with no hand pressed against it to keep it warm. I waited with my hand on the cold mirror, hoping that it would grow warm- hoping that he would be there. I leaned my forehead on the glass then, to the left of my still hand.

"Please come back…" I whispered, knowing that he was probably too far underneath the Paris opera house to hear a word I was saying. My breath left a small faded circle on the glass, but it soon disappeared and was replaced with another.

I flung myself away from the glass in surprise when I heard the doors to the prima donna room fling open.

"What do you think you're doing?" A furious looking Marie shouted, stomping her way into the room. I didn't expect her to cross the room as quickly as she did, so I was shocked when I felt her iron grip on my arm, dragging my up from my kneeling position, and away from the mirror.

"You were talking to _him _weren't you?" She asked, trying to catch my eyes with her livid gaze.

I didn't answer which seemed to add wood to her burning fire.

"I heard you, you know!" She hissed. "You shouldn't be talking with him! He'll kill you as soon as he can!" She said, her strong grip growing softer on my arm.

"Then why hasn't he killed me yet?" I countered quietly.

"Isabelle," Marie started, her eyes growing softer, now filling with more concern than anger. "I only want to protect you." She insisted, brushing some loose strands of my hair away from my face. "But, I've been here for longer than you have. I know what he has done. I've _seen _him kill, and he _will _kill again. Joseph Bouquet will not be the last life he takes." She explained, her voice growing more and more calm, as if she was trying to soothe me.

"How do you know that?" I countered once more.

Marie only sighed, and started to lead me out of the room.

"Come, I will make you dinner, okay?" She said. I nodded my head slightly, knowing that arguing with Marie would be pointless. "Just promise me that you will stop trying to see him again." She said, looking at me once again as we stopped in the doorway of the prima donna room. I think she and I both knew that no matter what I said, I would continue to see Erik.

"Okay." I lied.

Marie, seemingly content closed the heavy doors to the prima donna room before I could look back inside once more.

Perhaps if I had stayed longer, I would have felt the warmth growing on my palm from the other side of the mirror. Perhaps I would have also heard that small, uncharacteristic whisper. A whisper so soft, that it could have easily floated passed the ears of any person nearby.

It was a voice that whispered, "I miss you too."

**A/N: Awe Erik! ****(He's such a sap)**** I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Once again, I didn't proof read it, so I apologise if it doesn't flow as well as the other chapters! Also, the next chapter might include some actual dialogue between the two (possibly including a revised version of the deleted scene from before)! It really depends on whether or not I change my outline, but cross your fingers! Please let me know what you guys thought of this chapter! Sorry, I didn't really know how to write the last little bit with Erik being a lonely lil guy, so please tell me what you guys thought! thank you all so much! See you in the next update:)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hello! So, here's the next chapter! It takes place during the Masquerade so that means we get to see a little of Erik! Also, I wasn't too sure on how to write the singing bits in? I never really thought about that because I didn't plan on having many singing parts between Erik and Isabelle, so I kind of forgot about the singing parts that are actually canon and are in POTO. Please tell me whether or not you liked how i wrote the singing parts in! They're just italicised and i never really specifically said that the lines were being sung, so you can decide on whether or not you want to read it in your head or sing it in your head:) Also, i kind of mixed the masquerade scenes from the 2004 movie and the stage production (just FYI). Anyways enjoy!**

**(I don't own the phantom of the opera)**

I don't think I had ever been as thrilled and as joyous as I had been that one night. It was during that one night that everything changed, though it seemed as if it was the way things should have been the entire time. It was simply right. Of course, that morning and afternoon hadn't been as enjoyable.

It was the day of the masquerade ball. Everyone was absolutely filled to the brim with excitement and anticipation. While young ladies added layers upon layers to their elaborate dresses, and gentlemen prepared their over-priced suits for the night's events, I was stuck in the opera house, wiping down marble floors that the managers kept walking across. Unfortunately, while people were making preparations for their gowns for attending the annual masquerade, I was making preparations for the _floor_ for the annual masquerade. When the ball commenced, I was one of the lucky maids who got to mop the polished marble when some older gentleman let his champagne glass slip through his gloved fingers.

The ball was being put together beautifully, though. Professional interior decorators were hired to lace the opera house with flowers, candles, and any other decorations, and high-class chefs were brought in to prepare outstanding appetizers and delicate horderves.

The rest of the day passed by all too slowly until, finally, the moment everyone had been waiting for had arrived. Couples upon couples of wealthy aristocrats and high-class nobles flooded in through the main entrance of the opera house. All of the previous and current prima donnas were there, each escorted by their own date. Even the young Christine Daee was there with the Vicompte De Changy. Although I wasn't a part of the prestigious crowd, I couldn't help but feel the excitement as well.

Right away, I took my place in the shadows, the dark providing me with a mask of my own. I quietly observed the couples singing and dancing gaily with one another. The whole crowd seemed to flow together as one despite the fact that each costume was intricately different than the next. Everyone was enjoying themselves, and I had to admit that I was quite entertained by watching the ensemble before me. And, I only ran into two of the guests that night, so I thought things were going well for myself.

To entertain myself, I tried to guess who was who behind the ridiculous masks while I stole a few sweets from the buffet table placed to the side of the grand hall. Eventually I began to doze off after a while despite the singing continuing around me. What jolted me from my lounged position on the wall was the sudden lack of music.

I looked around me to see what was going on. Everyone was turned facing someone at the top of the golden staircase. I dragged my mop behind me as I shuffled along the wall, trying to see past the marble pillar that was obstructing my view.

The man suddenly came into view, and my stomach dropped while my heartbeat quickened in an unsteady pace. _Could it be? _ I had thought to myself. There, standing at the top of the staircase, was _him. _It was _Erik. _He was right there in front of me. This was better than the dark shadow that stood amongst the painted angels, because this was _him _standing _right there. _It was like everyone else in the room suddenly vanished, because no one else knew this feeling that I was experiencing. God knows what this feeling was, but it was there, and I was absolutely sure that I was the only one feeling it.

I smiled in awe at his figure standing tall and proud there. For a moment, it was almost as if he saw me too, though the possibility was highly unlikely. I wanted to move closer to see his face in detail. I wanted to reach out and touch him to confirm that he was real. I was about to take that step forwards when a voice interrupted the silence in the room. _His _voice.

"_Why so silent, good monsieur?" _He started. It was then that I was noticing his resemblance to the Masque of the Red Death. Although I did appreciate the reference to the famous Edgar Allan Poe, I felt a bit hesitant about the near future. I knew what happened in Poe's story, and I knew how it ended. I can tell you that the story does not end happily.

"_Did you think that I had left you for good?" _He continued as he slowly stepped down the stairs. "_Have you missed me good monsieur?" _

_ Yes. _I wanted to shout out loud. _Yes I have missed you. _

"_I have written you an opera." _

My ears perked at this statement. Could this be what he was composing? Could this be the music I heard?

"_Here I bring the finished score_: Don Juan, Triumphant." He declared as he threw what seemed to be the score on the ground before him.

"_Fondest greetings to you all." _He continued. "_A few instructions just before rehearsal starts." _

So, he wanted his opera to be put into production. I wondered why. I'm sure he had written ample operas in his time, each one beautiful in its own way, so I wondered why he decided to put this particular opera into production. Why Don Juan?

I watched as he made his way through Carlotta, Piangi, and the managers, giving them each instructions for his opera. Each instruction was laced with wit, and I had to admit that I did snort a few times at his remarks. That is, until he made his way to Mlle. Daee. She seemed nervous, that was evident. He looked almost angry with her as he bellowed, "_Your chains are still mine, you will sing for me!" _And with that, he disappeared in a cloud of smoke and a spurt of flames.

What did that mean? He sounded possessive and angry but also sad and hurt. I wondered what happened between Erik and Mlle. Daee that caused this tension between them.

Before the cloud of smoke disappeared, most of the guests had already ran out of the opera house out of fear of the "ghost". I wanted so badly to run to the mirror then, to see if he would be there, but I saw Marie watching me carefully, knowing that I would try to do something. So, instead of running off, I helped clean the mess that was left behind by the horrified guests.

It seemed like hours before us maids were dismissed to finish our daily cleaning schedule, which had been delayed for preparation of the masquerade. I had to use all my will power to stop myself from running to the prima donna room. It must have looked strange to any one else, seeing a maid excitedly making her way to do some dusting. But I didn't care at that point. I just wanted to be with Erik.

After making my way to the prima donna room, I made my way over to the mirror, and took my position on the floor. I started to clean as moments of silence passed by. After a short while, I felt Erik's presence, and I heard the shifting of fabric. At that moment, my whole being filled with an excitement that I didn't know I was able to posses. It had felt as if I was a young child and Erik was my imaginary friend, and it was in that day that I discovered that he was real.

"Erik?" I asked, wanting to know if he was truly there. I think I already knew that he was, but I only wanted to hear his voice again- that melodious voice.

" Isabelle." Erik replied, almost as if it was a greeting. And, oh what a beautiful greeting it was.

I smiled, blushing almost, and looked down at my lap. A silence washed over the room. It definitely was not a bad silence. It was a comfortable silence in which we both relished in each other's presence. Oh, how I missed him. I had missed his presence, his voice, and his confirmation of existence. It was strange missing him though. I could only miss a voice and a presence, and never a face. But now, things are different.

Erik finally spoke up then, which I was not expecting. "I know you have questions for me, Isabelle."

I smiled once again before taking a deep breath. Where do I start? I thought I'd start with basic questions. "Where have you been all this time?" I asked. I mentally scolded myself for my question. I sounded like his mother, questioning her child, and that was not something I wanted.

"My home." I was greeted with an immediate answer. "Composing." He added on. So it was true. I then thought that I should give harder questions. But what was I to ask? It had been so long since my last interaction with Erik, and through that time, I had millions of questions running through my head, but now, I had nothing.

It took me a moment or so to formulate the question that I had wanted to ask Erik before I even knew Erik's name.

I took a deep breath before starting. "A month or so ago, I was in one of the ballrooms. I…" I trailed off, trying to think of a way to explain my story without sounding mad. "I heard a voice. _Your _voice."

"How did you know it was my voice?" He asked, his voice almost laced with amusement.

"I just… knew." I explained. There was another moment of silence before I continued. "Anyways, I heard your voice. And, you were singing. It was beautiful. I think it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard" I said, almost lost in a daze as I relived that night. I stopped once more, as if that story posed my question.

"And?" Erik prodded.

"What was that song? " I immediately asked.

I waited for a response. It felt like an eternity had past before I was greeted, not with a voice, but with a sound. It was the sound of the door handle to the prima donna room turning. I turned around quickly to look at the door. I had no idea what to do at that moment.

I didn't expect to feel a pair of arms wrap around my waist firmly, and to quickly pull me towards the mirror. Everything happened so fast; I could hardly tell what was going on. All of a sudden, the candle-lit prima donna room was gone, and I was surrounded by darkness. I felt myself land on the ground, but a person softened the fall. Erik. I didn't have time to blush, nor to realize that there was a gloved hand covering my mouth. I quickly turned my head to the left to see a dim light coming from an outline of the prima donna room. I was behind the mirror. I could see the entirety of the pink and gold room. I could even see Marie sticking her round head through the door. Her eyes squinted as he scanned the room, looking for me. I was thankful for the gloved hand covering my mouth at that moment, because I knew I would have most likely made a noise and given myself away.

"Where is that girl now? She should be cleaning this room!" She muttered to herself before quickly moving her head out of the door, so she could close it with a click. I waited a moment, afraid she would return, before I burst into a set of giggles as the gloved hand from the person underneath me fell from my mouth. _Wait. _I thought. _The person underneath me? _I quickly looked down. My two elbows were planted on the cement, pinning down a head. Squinting, I let my eyes adjust to the dark lighting of wherever I was and examined exactly whose head I was pinning down. A white porcelain mask seemed to almost glow in the dark, while a seemingly stunned face stared up at me. It was Erik. I think I already knew that from the start, but the conformation stunned me.

I noted that he had already changed from his rouge costume, and into a simple black suit. I continued to observe his face. I had never seen him this close before. And now, he was right in front of me, our noses inches apart. His eyes seemed to captivate me the most. At a first glance, they could appear to be black, but as I continued to gaze into them, I could see the deep brown that entrapped my eyes. I blinked a few times, still tracing over every one of his features, and somehow, I knew he was doing the same with me.

I then noticed that I was still pinning him down to the hard ground. I allowed myself to turn a deep red before quickly sitting up. I then observed that I had only made matters worse, in that I was then straddling Erik. If it was possible, I felt myself blush even further before I stood up completely. If I had paid closer attention, I probably would have noticed that my dear opera ghost was very slightly turning pink as well.

Erik stood up as well while I brushed myself off. The hallway that I had seemed to be standing in was narrow, so I still remained quite close to Erik. I looked up at him again. I noticed then how he was quite tall in comparison to me, and he also had a very thin frame.

"Erik?" I asked, wanting to know if it was truly him. I already knew that it was but I only wanted to hear him confirm it.

"Isabelle." Erik replied with the faintest crooked smile, almost as if it was a greeting. And, oh what a beautiful greeting it was.

**A/N: AHH! So what did you guys think?! Some of you might recognise the deleted scene in there at the end. I tried to modify it a bit to fit the situation better but overall things stayed the same (except i also took out the bit where Erik was giggling like a fool). You guys don't know how many times I almost accidentally changed this whole story into a romantic comedy and this scene was so hard to write because here we have Erik being all mysterious and oh god there is a girl on top of me shitshitshit and then we have dear Isabelle who is blushing like a fool and being completely awkward (rom com material). So anyways, tell me what you guys thought of my attempt at fluff! I'll see you guys in the next update (hopefully with some more interactions and some more questions answered?)! warning:the next update might not be as long as this one so just FYI. **

**Thank you guys so much for reading! don't forget to favourite, follow, and review!3**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey guys! So hadn't been working for me (like it wouldn't let me log in) School as well as life in general has kept be busy, so i had no time to write as well. This chapter is kind of just a filler and the next one might be similar but i'm not sure yet (I just don't want to jump into things too quickly). Also, I'd like to apologize if the writting style is a bit off in this chapter! I have to get back into the flow of writing this story in this style. Sorry if it's not as detailed/too detailed compared to other chapters! Please let me know though so I don't compare future chapters to this one. Thank you guys so much! Don't forget to vote, favorite, and leave plenty of reviews! 3**

I'm not completely sure why, but my face-to-face meeting with Erik had left me flustered all throughout the following day. It wasn't as if we had a long, heartfelt conversation when we were both standing behind that mirror. We simply recognized each other's existence, and then Erik politely excused himself after leading me out from behind the mirror. I'm not sure why he left then. Maybe he had something better to do. Or maybe it was the fact that I kept staring at him in complete awe that he decided to run off to who-knows-where.

I did feel a slight pang of guilt about continuously gazing upon him, but I simply could not stop myself. I think I'm getting ahead of myself, but it was as if I was witnessing the presence of an angel. Before our meeting, I had only heard that sweet melodic voice of his. To see a face that matched that voice perfectly had left me a little stunned. I was curious if I would see him again when I returned to the Prima Donna room.

In terms of Erik's opera, rehearsals had apparently been going quite smoothly. Of course Carlotta had managed to make the conductor boil with rage every few measures, but I guess that was normal. Unfortunately, I was not present for any of the rehearsals for _Don Juan_, which almost saddened me. I longed to hear the notes that Erik had written down so effortlessly, yet so passionately. I was determined to watch the entire opera from the shadows of the theatre, as I normally do. I had always greatly appreciated music, but ever since I had heard Erik's angelic voice, it hadn't been the same. I longed to hear the notes more and more as I felt the music seep into my very being with every rhythm that floated through my ear.

I was giddy when I made my way into the Prima Donna room. I almost skipped to the mirror when I felt that presence almost immediately after I stepped into the pink room.

At first I stood in front of the mirror, a few steps further away from it than usual, unsure of what to do. It would seem ridiculous _not _to speak face to face, wouldn't it? I pursed my lips, unsure of what to say. I started off by putting my old wooden bucket and cloth down on the carpeted floor next to the mirror, and decided to remain in my kneeling position in front of it.

"You can come out, you know." I said, fighting back a smile as I continued to stare at my reflection in the clear water in the bucket.

I continued to stare down at my rippling reflection when I heard no sound but the sliding of glass, and the shifting of clothing. That's when I let a fraction of the smile reveal itself on my lips.

I turned around quickly, eager to see Erik's face once again, and I was not disappointed. There he sat, upright in an armchair almost halfway in the shadows of the room. Most of the candles in the Prima Donna room were extinguished, leaving the main source of light to be the sunset seeping through the window on the opposite wall. The shadows cast by the dimming sun molded Erik's face to seem sharper, and darker. But the shadows were light enough for me to see through them, and to see his eyes. I mentally scolded myself for blushing when our eyes met. If Marie had been there, she would have pulled me out of the room by my ear right after she kicked Erik just between his legs.

I couldn't help but become mesmerized by his eyes, though. Though they were dark, I could see the thoughts and ideas swimming through them- in that deep brown pool that seemed to go on forever, and I loved that.

That's when I noticed I was staring. I blushed even further, and looked down to my lap. I realize now that I should have stood up and found a proper seating area in the room, but my body simply did not want to move.

I decided that I wanted to initiate conversation with Erik, but how? Do I simply say hello, and ask how his day had been? Do I ask a personal question? I took a short breath, getting ready to at least commence with a greeting, but I was interrupted.

"I know what you're going to ask." He said simply, almost with a touch of bitter sarcasm.

This took me by surprise for the moment, and I truly was going to correct him, and tell him that I was only going to say "Hello", but I decided I wanted to hear what he'd thought I would have said.

"Oh?" I asked, urging him to go on.

"It is the same question every time, even if it is not said directly to me." He replied, almost as if it was a hint.

I raised my eyebrows in response.

"Why do I wear a mask?" He said, as if the question sounded overused and boring for his own tongue to pronounce.

To be completely and utterly honest, I had never given the white porcelain mask much thought. Yes, I did notice it, but I had originally thought of it as his personal business. Plus, I had met him face to face for the first time on the night of the Masquerade ball, so it wasn't strange for him to be masked. It laid on the right side of his face, while the left side was uncovered. There was obviously much work put into the mask, as it was perfectly sculpted to match each contour of the left side of his face. The only feature of the mask that seemed unnatural was its stark white colour, and the fact that the eyebrow shape was pushed down, making the expression on the right side of his face seem constantly angry and intimidating. I did not understand this, as the brow on the left side of his face seemed relaxed at the moment, not angry nor intimidating.

"Actually, no." I said, slightly amused that he would think this. "Why do they ask you?" I asked him, almost teasingly.

He furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at me, making the mask shift slightly from the movement of his face. "Some would argue that it is a… prominent feature of mine." He stated simply, as if he had to explain why the question was completely valid.

I disagreed. "No, it's not." I said, almost more seriously than before, but still maintaining a drop of amusement. "A feature of yours would be your eyes, or your smile, or something that was a part of your being. That mask is most definitely not a feature. It's more of an…." I paused for a moment, "accessory." I said with a slight smile.

If it was possible, Erik's brow burrowed even further down, while he looked at me with such confusion. He planted his elbows on the arms of the chair while he folded his fingers under his chin. He seemed to be deep in thought, and didn't speak for a few moments. I just wish he hadn't chose me to stare at for those few minutes of silence, as I felt myself blush even deeper.

"I do not understand you, Isabelle." He finally said, as if it was a perfectly clear conclusion to his thoughts.

I replied with a smile, "And nor do I understand you, Erik, but that is a start."

**A/N: A start to what my dear Isabelle? What did you guys think! Did you guys like filler chapters like this one? I'm trying to decide if next chapter will be a filler with Marie or Erik (or both), but I guess you guys will have to find out! I'll try to update sooner, but no guarentees! Also, I made two sketches for what Isabelle COULD look like (I'll try to get them uploaded soon- they can be found on Wattpad). There is no one way that Isabelle can look like so let your imaginations run wild! i was just doodling this while I was listening to some music, and who knows, I might do another doodle that looks totally different! Anyways, don't forget to vote, favorite, and leave reviews! Thank you guys so much!3**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hello! I'm not too proud of this chapter, and I wasn't very happy with how some stuff turned out, but I wanted to post something today, because I know I'm going to be busy over the weekend. It's kind of another filler, but our dear Isabelle seems to be getting some new thoughts in her head that you get to see briefly. I hope you guys enjoy! Don't forget to favourite, follow, and review!3 **

The following day went by quickly. It was one of my slower days, so I did not have to do as much cleaning as usual, so I found myself taking my time everywhere I went, admiring the opera house. Usually on a slow day, I would have gone outside to walk the streets of Paris, or perhaps watch the clouds in the park, but things were different that day because I did not want to be late. Towards sunset, I found it necessary to find my way to the Prima Donna room to meet a certain opera ghost.

I'm sure he would have understood if I could not attend our usual meeting, but just the other evening, we had had a face-to-face conversation- something that was completely rare for us. And, for some reason, I was positive that we would see each other, face-to-face once more that night.

I made my way to the Prima Donna room as the sun started to soak through the massive windows in the halls, creating shadows on the intricate statues that made them seem almost life like.

A smile burst on my face when I found Erik already in the same chair as before, waiting for me when I quietly slipped through the doors of the Prima Donna room.

"Hello, Erik." I said through a grin.

"Hello, Isabelle." He replied easily.

I could not help but stand there at the entrance of the room for a moment to admire the scene laid out in front of me. There he was, just like yesterday, except more… _natural_. It was almost relaxing to see him there, leaning back in his chair with his hands in a prayer position placed neatly under his chin, like he _belonged_ there. In the sun soaked room- _with me_.

I shook the intruding thought from my head when I realized that I must have looked like a fool, standing there, and staring at him. I noticed then that I do that a lot- staring at him, and I made a mental note to try and stop myself the next time.

There was a fully functional cushioned chair directly across from Erik, but it just seemed too far away from him, so I sat on the floor in front of the mirror like yesterday. We remained in that position for a while, just _seeing_ each other. It could have been considered as "_looking_", but "_seeing_" seemed to be more appropriate, as that was what was happening. It was like we were seeing each other in a whole new light. It was that strange thing like when you first see someone, and you think that you have their face completely memorized, but you really don't, and you only realize that the second time you see them- and, oh, how different he looked this second time. It was as if he was a part of the opera house. Somehow, him and the opera house were connected, and it was beautiful. Not beauty in the sense of what he was wearing or how his hair looked, no. It was that strange and fascinating natural beauty.

I decided then that the silence had been enough, and so I began to speak.

"So," I started, informally, "do you remember, a long time ago, when I asked you about the song I had heard you singing in the ballroom?" I questioned.

"Yes, I do recall that question." He said with a slight smirk.

I let the silence give him the rest of my question, and he seemed to catch on quickly.

"Ah, you would like an answer?" He asked.

"Yes." I said with an excited smile.

He took a deep breath, and while he exhaled, the smirk was replaced with a slight frown, but soon returned to a faint smile when he turned his head to look at me to answer my question.

"One day, I will show you, Isabelle. One day."

My conversation with Erik ended all too soon, when he politely dismissed himself as he had "matters to attend to". It was then that I remembered that Erik had the reputation of being the infamous "opera ghost". I also remembered his appearance at the Masquerade, and his introduction of Don Juan. It was a strange thing to think about. He was a man known for threatening and murdering, yet I had just had a civil conversation with him less than ten minutes ago.

I ate quietly as I thought about Erik that night while the other maids around me at the crowded dining table continued to chatter about what went on in their days. Marie, however noticed my silence, and that's when she asked why I was blushing.

**A/N: Oh Isabelle... So what did you guys think? Did you like the style of this chapter? I'm not sure how, exactly, but it just seemed a little different than my other chapters. I know this one's definitely shorter, but I think it takes place more in the current rather than Isabelle's thoughts? I'm not sure, but tell me what you guys think! Next chapter will be another filler (ish). I edited my plot outline for this story, and i had originally only planned to have only 11 chapters, but it looks like it's going to be extended!:) I just didn't want to rush the plot so I'm just taking my time. So, once again, please let me know your thoughts on this chapter! Thank you guys so much!3**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hello! So, I'm not really sure how I feel about this chapter yet, but I do hope you guys like it! Enjoy!**

The past few weeks, Erik and I had seen each other almost every day. Each day, the conversations would be short, but each one proved to be somewhat informative. So far, I've learned that Erik did in fact live underneath the opera house, and that he had no living family that he knew of (though he did not seem to believe that statement himself). Erik learned that I have a sister and a mother that live in Bordeaux, and that I've been living in the opera house ever since I came to Paris. The conversations were simple really, but it seemed as though we both enjoyed them and their simplicity.

It was a week before the debut of Don Juan. One week. Everyone in the opera house was scrambling about, trying to memorize a lyric, or trying to coordinate a dance. Even us maids were beginning to get nervous.

Marie, who seemed to be worrying more and more about me, had made it her duty to make sure I was done with my work, and eating dinner a whole hour earlier than normal, afraid I would be killed by the opera ghost. I worried that this would become a problem with my daily meetings with Erik, but was proven wrong when I saw him waiting for me in the Prima Donna room that day. This time, though, he was not sitting in the stiff wooden chair, placed conveniently in the shadows. He was sitting on the floor, against the mirror, with his long legs stretched out before him.

He had his back pressed flat against the glass, and his hands neatly folded in his lap. A ghost of a smile slid across his thin lips in a greeting before he motioned with his chin for me to sit next to him. I did so, almost in confusion.

I stared straight ahead at first, watching the closed door of the Prima Donna room, almost not knowing what to do.

"You seem rather relaxed today." I finally said. It _was_ quite confusing to see him calmly sitting on the floor, when he usually sits stiffly in a chair in the shadows. It didn't help with the confusion when I remembered that his opera was premiering in one week.

"And you seem rather confused today." He replied, and even though I wasn't looking, I could tell he said that with a smirk.

As I turned my head to lock eyes with him, I was able to confirm that yes, there was a smirk placed neatly on his lips.

"Well, shouldn't you be getting ready for your opera?" I questioned, explaining the source of my confusion to him.

"There is nothing more that needs preparing." He said simply.

I sincerely doubted that. Had he not seen the chaos going on around the opera house? I decided not to ask, though, and I dropped the subject.

The silence that fell upon us was actually quite peaceful. I had let my legs slide to the floor, parallel of his, and he had let his head gently rest against the glass of the mirror. I let my eyes close as I let my head lean back like Erik's. All was calm and quiet, until I felt a pair of eyes on me.

I let my eyes slowly open, but I did not dare look to the side quite yet. I remained staring at the entrance doors of the prima donna room, pretending to be deep in thought. A few moments passed, but the feeling remained with me. It wasn't necessarily a bad feeling. It was only a feeling that existed, and something that I wasn't sure if I should recognize or not. It took moments more before I finally decided to recognize it.

I slowly turned my head to the right, until Erik's face came into view. Yes, Erik had in fact been watching me with those deep brown eyes. I blushed under his gaze, but I did not let that break my eye contact with him.

It was almost like a type of tunnel vision, just without the negative connotation. It was just he and I and the rest of the world that faded into the distance while he became more focused. It felt like it was the first time in a long time that I had actually lived in the present- not only recognizing what was happening at the moment, but _actually properly _living in the present.

The moment of peace was quickly disturbed for me, though. My frantic mind began to search for excuses to not do what I _wanted_ to do. It searched for a damned question, and it happened to find one- a question that I had been hoping to save for later. _Why did you kill Joseph Bouquet? _

The moment shattered around me, and reality came back into focus. Erik blinked, and his eyebrows furrowed. His reflection mirrored his expression in the glass of the mirror, making it feel as if there were _two _of him staring at me. That's when I realized I had said the question _out loud. _

I swallowed hard. I knew I made a mistake, and I wanted to tell him that, but for some reason the words were stuck in the back of my throat refusing to come out. While I did want to know the answer to the question, I knew that this was the wrong place, and certainly the wrong time.

Just when I thought he was going to say something, I heard a door swing open. My head snapped to the front of the Prima Donna room to see an angry looking Marie standing in the doorway.

"You're late." She said, anger evident in her voice.

I looked to my right, worried about Erik, but Erik was gone.

**A/N: Okay, so I know a lot happened in this chapter and it all happened very quickly. I guess I kind of wanted to show how it was supposed to be like any other day, but then bam shit went down? Also, I know the "almost kiss" might have been a bit rushed, but I knew that if it didn't happen now, it probably would have never happened and this story would have just been a bunch of fillers. I also thought it was necessary for Isabelle to bring up Joseph Bouquet, and I know that if I was in her situation, I probably would have awkwardly blurted it out at an inappropriate time as well (hey, nobody's perfect). Anyways, tell me what you guys thought of this chapter! I love to hear from you guys! I'll see you all in the next chapter! 3**


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